


symphonies playing in the world without sound

by gothst



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothst/pseuds/gothst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shion gets sad thinking back to the world and people he left behind. Nezumi is there to comfort him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	symphonies playing in the world without sound

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first thing i've ever written and i don't know what i'm doing lol this doesn't even make sense (also english isn't my native language so i'm sorry for any mistakes!)

It wasn’t easy to adjust to life in the West Block, Shion determined. But when everything changed drastically from one day to the other you didn’t really have the time to adjust to anything, to think about anything, to dwell on something, and most of all, to get sentimental - you just had to take things as they were. 

But once you actually _did_ find some time for thinking, you didn’t want it, Shion figured. He didn’t want to process all that had happened, to think about everything - about his mother, about Safu, about No.6.  
It hurt to remember. 

When he stood there day after day in the bunker cooking, waiting for Nezumi to return home (from where? Shion didn’t know. Shion wished he did), occasionally reading to Cravat and Nezumi's other companions, he slowly ran out of things to distract himself with. 

He didn’t like it when Nezumi left him alone (or, in some cases, alone with three robotic mice). He didn’t like it when Nezumi ran around all day, without knowing his whereabouts, with whom he was staying, what he was doing, _how_ he was doing. Shion wanted to go out there, too. To actually _do_ something. To not play housewife all day long. 

They were a pain – the days, or even just afternoons, in the West Block spent alone. 

Not that days spent in the West Block otherwise were something to be compared to colorful flower meadows and summer breezes, but when Nezumi was with him it sparked a kind of hope in Shion, to maybe, one day, see meadows blooming on the hills over their house, blooming with flowers in all colors imaginable, carrying their sweet scent all over the area. 

But Nezumi wasn’t with him now. Nor was his mother, nor was Safu.  
It was reassuring, at least, to know that Karan was well, and that she knew Shion was safe, though it still didn’t come close to soothe Shion’s longing for one of her hugs - a mother hug that said “all will be well” like nothing else did. 

He also longed for Karan’s outstanding cherry cake and the scent of freshly baked bread early in the morning, filling the whole house and being the very first thing Shion noticed everyday upon waking up back in Lost Town, easily pulling him out of his sleep. 

Now, upon waking up, Shion sometimes imagined the scent of freshly baked goods to be in the air, to hear his mother humming to herself on her way downstairs to open up the bakery, her footsteps slowly fading away. Shion basked in these memories, until he opened his eyes to get pulled back into reality - to his place on the couch, Nezumi on the bed in the corner and the rows of bookshelves surrounding them. 

The smell of Karan’s bakery, the smell of _home_ , was gone, replaced by one of pipelines and stuffy air, the sound of rustling wind and Nezumi’s even breathing. 

This was reality now. 

So, Shion found himself one day in the underground apartment, preparing food for himself and Nezumi, waiting for the other boy’s return once again, with tears slowly running down his cheeks, luckily missing the pot full of vegetable stew in front of him every time a tear fell from his chin.

Shion hadn’t cried since waking up after the bee incident, seeing his reflection for the first time after Nezumi had saved his life (again). Not necessarily because he didn’t _need_ to cry, but because he didn’t _want_ to, afraid that once he started, there was no stopping, afraid to be seen as weak by Nezumi, and to never be treated as an equal.

But it was okay to cry, Shion knew. It didn’t make him weak. It helped him to let go, to make room for more important things, for a while. Crying made him tired. Being tired meant he could fall asleep easier. Or, fall asleep at all. 

Shion was standing in front of the small pot (so small, he was surprised the food in there was enough for two) full of stew, trying to make out the outlines of the various types of vegetables through his tear-filled vision, until he finally figured that it was useless. The stew was definitely edible by now, rid of any toxins that might’ve been in the raw vegetables before. It had to do. 

He turned the stove off, and, with his thoughts still filled with memories of No.6 and the people he left behind there, Shion let himself fall on the worn couch, putting his face into his hands, wallowing in a weird, nostalgic pain and shedding all the tears that he had bottled up for the past few weeks.

He sat there for what felt like hours, tears running down from his cheeks to his chin, falling down onto the old, faded fabric carpet. He only got pulled back into reality when he suddenly felt hands on his shoulders that were slowly wrapping around his back.

His first thought was, _that’s it, I’m getting murdered._

His first instinct, though, was to open his eyes.

Through a blurry field of vision he could make out the shape of a person, a person that could only be –

“N-Nezumi?” 

“No. Don't say anything.”, came the voice of Shion’s roommate, sounding far less sharp than he probably intended to.

The next moment, the warmth of another body against Shion’s left, and a gentle hand wiped the tears from his cheeks carefully.

“It’s alright.”

Then, the warmth was back, and Shion fully indulged in it now. He returned the hug, wrapping his arms around Nezumi, burying his face in the crook of the other boy’s neck, muffling the sobs that started to return with their full force now. 

Shion breathed in Nezumi’s scent, and it might not have been his mother’s - the scent of cake and asters and something familiar, the scent of _family_ \- but it was _Nezumi’s_ \- the scent of old books, sharp winter air, the dressing rooms of theaters and something that might not have been the scent of family, but that reminded Shion of _home_ nonetheless.

And in that moment, Nezumi’s hug was just as comforting, reassuring and meaningful as one of Karan’s hugs would have been. 

Shion forgot how long they stayed like that – entwined, Shion on the couch, Nezumi kneeling before him – even after Shion’s sobs had died down. Time seemed to be so meaningless now, just like words, which, in that moment, felt like the most superfluous thing in the world. All that really mattered was that he wasn’t alone, he felt protected, he felt hopeful, he didn’t feel _weak_.

But it couldn’t last forever, and Nezumi slowly let go of the white-haired boy, afraid he would fall asleep on the spot.

He cleared his throat. “Hey, let’s get something to eat.”

Shion opened his eyes, ignoring how much they burned, and looked at Nezumi, who was standing before him now, stretching his back. 

Grey eyes met red ones and Shion smiled sincerely.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

And he was sure, shortly before Nezumi turned around, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, he saw a small smile tugging at his lips as well. 

\---

Shion came back into the bunker with the freshly washed dishes in his arms, which he put back to their assigned spot in the cupboard over the stove. Nezumi lay on his bed with a book in his hand ( _Hamlet_ again, Shion noticed), his hair was wet and not in its usual ponytail, looking darker than usual, sprawled over the pillow. 

Nezumi licked his finger and turned the page.

Shion averted his gaze. 

He rummaged about in a cupboard for a blanket, found one and blew out the candle next to the front door, leaving the one next to Nezumi as the only light source in the room, making the boy look as if he was emitting an enticing glow. 

Shion made his way to the couch, _his bed_ , took off his cardigan and folded it neatly, putting it on the table in front of him. He just began adjusting the pillows on the couch when a cough pulled him out of his routine.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”, asked Nezumi in his usual tone of voice.

“Uhm, going to sleep?”

Nezumi sighed.

“Come here.” 

Shion turned, wide-eyed, to look at the boy on the bed, still lying there in the same position as three minutes ago.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Nezumi didn’t take his eyes off his book, but he shifted closer to the wall, making more room next to him.

Shion stopped thinking rational, or, actually, he stopped thinking altogether, as he grabbed his blanket, trailing over to Nezumi’s bed and lying down next to him, slowly and carefully, afraid the dark-haired boy would change his mind if he made a too fast motion. 

There was one thing Shion knew, and it was that life in the West Block was no life for thinking about things carefully. Let alone rationally. 

Nezumi dog-eared a page in his book and threw it on the ground, followed by him blowing out the last remaining candle in the room.  
Darkness encased the two boys and Shion could hear Nezumi shifting around, seemingly searching for a comfortable sleeping position.

“Nezumi?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you, you know this means a lot to - ”

“Don't ruin this.”, came the quiet response, and Shion could practically hear the smile in Nezumi's voice. 

Shion closed his eyes, and Nezumi didn’t protest when the smaller boy decided to rest his head on his shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist.

Falling asleep, Shion figured, didn’t require crying. It only required this – Nezumi’s steady breathing, the feeling of his heartbeat, the warmth of his body.

The next morning he woke up imagining the feeling of Nezumi’s skin on his, the scent of _Nezumi_ all around him, and this time, he wasn’t afraid to open his eyes and be pulled back into reality.

This was reality.


End file.
